Pitiful
by ForbiddenSweets
Summary: He had failed, he had fallen. Her presence reeked of serenity and kindness. Her presence was a curse, a burden, a reminder of his actions. He felt pathetic. He was pathetic. He was pitiful.


This was one of those spur of the moment things. I read the conversation between these two in the new DLC, and I felt the need to write something. It's not that great, and it could certainly be much better. Also, I apologize in advice for any glaring errors.

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**Pitiful**

"I was supposed to be the one to... to fix everything."

Gangrel looked at the woman standing before him, the former Exalt, Emmeryn. The woman who died because of his actions. He had thought that his actions were right, justified. Perhaps he would've been able to leave his mark on the world and change it for the better. But now he saw that he was wrong. When he thought back to the many corpses of the men he had killed, he realized that he had gained nothing. Absolutely nothing. All of the bloodshed was for naught. He was sure that he would have been able to shape the future, but he was wrong. He had failed, he had fallen.

And now _she_ stood before him once more. Her presence reeked of serenity and kindness. Her presence was a curse, a burden, a reminder of his actions.

He had told her earlier, "Shield your ears from Gangrel's mad ravings!" But he knew that he wanted her to listen.

"But these words are not meant for you! Certainly not!" Another blatant lie.

And now she stood, motionless, staring at him like a hollow shell of the woman she used to be as the mad man raved on. Gangrel trembled as he looked at his hands, "But these hands that I dreamed would shape the future... They reek of blood."

"And the blood won't come off..." His breath hitched in his throat, and he looked at Emmeryn, desperate for a response, "My hands were clean once, I swear! ...Weren't they?"

His voice cracked, "Or did I just never stop to notice? Gods. I only want to get away from this carnage that has become my brand..."

"Is there no way out? Must this be my final mark?!"

Gangrel felt a tear slide down his cold cheeks. He tightly shut his eyes, praying that the tears would stop.

"Don't cry, Gangrel..." Emmeryn finally spoke. She slowly raised her hand and planted it on his head, softly ruffling his unruly hair.

"W-Why are you patting me on the head?" Gangrel was shocked at her actions and utterly confused. He stumbled to find the right words to say and tried to stop crying at the same time. He managed to blurt out, "Stop that!"

However, Emmeryn simply kept patting his head, gently smiling, "You're... precious to me..."

"...What did you say?" He stood there dumbfounded at what she had said. _He was precious to her_. Gangrel could not comprehend why. _Why? _He had killed her. He had ruined her. He had degraded her to her current pathetic state. And even if she had no memory of it ever happening, wouldn't she have some sort of instinct or hunch that he was dangerous? Evil?

"You're one of... my friends." She managed to enunciate. She removed her hand from his ruffled hair and gently caressed his cheek, wiping a single tear away with her thumb, "Promise you... won't cry..."

He sniffled, "Emmeryn! I'm not crying, damn you! I have nothing to cry about! N-Nothing!" It was lie after lie, but Emmeryn saw through all of them. She kept caressing his cheek and continued to gently smile. Emmeryn melted his ice-cold heart. She had broken him. She had reduced him to a state that no one would ever understand.

"Damn the gods above, one and all!" He yelled, letting the tears fall. He felt his throat close and a stabbing pain in his chest.

"You can... change... I believe in you... So don't cry..." She finally removed her hands from his face and pulled Gangrel into a soft embrace. "Everything will be... all right..."

Gangrel collapsed into her arms, sobbing. His knees felt weak. He felt pathetic. He_ was_ pathetic. He always was.

He was pitiful.

He broke down and sobbed in the arms of the woman whom he had killed.

"Everything will be... all right..." She repeated, softly whispering in his ear.

Regret and remorse fell from his sullen eyes, his tired and worn out eyes. He was sick and tired of everything. He was tired of being sorry. He was just so _tired_. All the remorse just kept raining down. Raining and raining and _raining _until there was nothing left.

Her presence was a curse, a burden, a reminder of his actions. She was a plague. She was his cure.

The Mad King had fallen.


End file.
